


Fine Line

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, F/M, Humor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam has wings; Dean can't keep his hands off them.





	1. Fine Line

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: This was one of those fics which came out of nowhere, and turned into one of my favourite pieces. :D  


* * *

Dean's fascinated by them; can't keep his hands off them, keeps idly reaching out and stroking the ends until Sam glares at him and tells him to quit it.

 

"Dude. _Wings._ " Dean can't get over the novelty.

 

Sam grunts at him and shifts restlessly on the bed. "You wanna give them a go for a while? Be my guest!" He rolls over a little to throw his best bitchface in Dean's direction, and grunts softly as the heavy mass of feathers and bones tilts and threatens to dislocate his shoulder. "Fuck!"

 

"Jesus fuck, Sammy, stop moving," Dean growls.

 

"They _hurt_ ," Sam whispers, rolling back onto his stomach and pillowing his face on his arms.

 

"You're probably meant to stretch them, or fly with them or something," Dean points out. "Eagles don't lie on their stomachs all day groaning about how their wings _hurt._ They go out and, y'know, eat mice."

 

Sam laughs into his folded arms, and the laugh turns into a grunt, his wings shuddering slightly as the tense muscles sieze up again.

 

"You want me to..." Dean hesitates, and Sam turns his head to look at him.

 

"What?"

 

"You want a wing-massage?"

 

Sam looks perplexed, and then his face settles into a knowing grin.

 

"You just wanna get your hands on them," he says with a slight grin.

 

"That too," Dean admits, but Sam doesn't do anything to stop him from climbing onto the bed and sitting astride Sam's thighs. He slides his hands over the swollen skin where the eagle's wings erupted from Sam's back, and Sam lets out a little sigh. It looks kinda painful, and Dean makes a mental note to rub some of Sam's antiseptic cream into them later, but forgets it almost immediately when he runs his hands lightly over the root of the wing. It's so warm and soft and Dean's always been a tactile kinda guy. He likes stroking the stray cats and dogs that hang around motels; he's the sort of person who'll touch anything just to see what it feels like. There are vivid memories of John eventually giving up trying to teach Dean that the stove is _'hot, Dean, you'll hurt yourself!'_ and letting him find out the hard way. He'll run his fingers over anything - metal, wood, plastic - to get a feel for it and to get a grip on his surroundings.

 

Dean's lost in his musing, his fingers running lightly over the heavy wings on his brother's back, massaging carefully and enjoying the feel of silky-soft feathers under his hands, and he's taken completely by surprise when Sam moans and jerks his hips, hard, into the mattress beneath him. He's panting audibly, and Dean leans over to see if he's okay.

 

Jesus fuck. Sam's face is bright red, his eyes half-closed and lazy, a light sheen of sweat decorating his forehead.

 

"Dude, did you just _come_?" Dean asks, pulling his hands away from Sam's wings.

 

"I... look, sorry man... but..."

 

"Wow," Dean says, putting his hands back where they were. "That good, huh?"

 

Sam tries to shift, tries to push Dean off his legs, but Dean's not going anywhere. Sam whines softly when Dean starts stroking again, and now Dean's aware of Sam's hips moving slightly, thrusting gently into the mattress.

 

"Dude, get off me," Sam mutters, his voice threaded through with embarrassment. "I wanna take a shower..."

 

Dean snorts. "Like you could, with these on," he says. It's gotta be uncomfortable, though - he imagines Sam's underwear is probably soaked through, and his dick must be almost painfully oversensitive from the friction so soon after coming.

 

But still...

 

"You want me to keep going?" Dean whispers. Sam hesitates, and it's a moment before he nods almost imperceptively.

 

Dean gets to work, starting at the shoulders and working his thumbs into the stiffened joints. Sam moans unabashedly as Dean massages the aching muscles and tendons, and after a very short amount of time, he's pushing his hips hard into the bed, biting down on his lip and panting softly.

 

"Dean..." Sam whispers between clenched teeth.

 

"Yeah?" Dean doesn't stop; he combs his fingers through the flight feathers, straightening them out and enjoying the smooth slide against his fingers.

 

"I'm gonna come again."

 

Damn, Dean's been trying to ignore his own erection, pushing hard against his zipper and making his underwear damp, but the sound of Sam's breathy voice almost does him in. He bites his lip, hard, and strokes Sam's wings more firmly, tickling the ends and running his hands back up the bone to massage the joint again. Sam gasps - _Dean!_ \- and his hips are jerking again, harder this time, as he comes with a soft whine.

 

Jesus fucking Christ. Sam's lying there, sated and wrung out, and Dean has a truly wicked idea.

 

Leaning close to Sam's ear, he whispers "I wonder how many times I can make you come just by stroking your wings?"

 

Sam groans softly, but doesn't make any move to buck Dean off him again. He spreads his wings slightly (Dean's impressed; he couldn't do that earlier), practically inviting Dean to continue, and Dean's only too happy to.

 

\---

 

It's torturous, but if this is torture, Sam's quite happy to be tortured. His jeans are a mess; he can feel his come seeping through his underwear, through the heavy denim, into the blankets. It's been four times now, and Dean's doing his damndest to get Sam off a fifth time. Sam doesn't know how the hell he's doing it - it shouldn't be physically _possible_ for someone to come five times in an hour - but damn, he's getting hard again, his dick rubbing smoothly through the come already filling his pants. Dean's gotten himself off once too - he stopped stroking Sam for just a moment, and Sam managed to crane his neck around just in time to see Dean jerk his cock and come all over Sam's back - but apart from that, it's all been about Sam and making Sam come more times than should be humanly possible.

 

It's gotta be the wings. There's something supernatural about them - well, apart from the obvious - because Sam's pretty certain golden eagles don't come whenever something touches their wings. Just then, Dean's fingers press into the joints again and Sam comes apart once more.

 

\---

 

"I have an idea," Dean says an hour later. He's gotten the tally up to nine, and is wondering if he can make it a perfect ten. Sam's groaning constantly, his hands clenching around the pillow and his hair stuck to his face in dark curls. Dean's managed to get himself off twice already, and is now gunning for a third. Sam pushes himself up slightly to turn and look at Dean, and damn, his eyes are dark with lust and sex. 

 

"What?" Sam murmurs, his voice scratchy and worn out. He sounds like he's been sucking cock for the past hour, and shit, Dean's gotta stop thinking things like that or he's gonna come without touching himself. He pulls gently at Sam's body, rolling him and turning him until he's sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam's languid and heavy, and it doesn't take much effort for Dean to unzip his jeans and push them off. Jesus Christ, Sam's _soaked_ , there's a damp spot on the bed where it seeped through his jeans, and Dean moans softly. Sam looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and smiles in a way which does _not_ make Dean want to get on his knees and lick his brother clean.

 

There's lube and condoms in the bedside drawer - a very considerate motel, this one - and Sam watches Dean slick his fingers and slide them into himself with a look of pure hunger on his face. Then Dean's sliding a condom down over Sam's erection - oh god, it's gonna be ten times - and straddling his lap before Sam can even think.

 

"Wait," he murmurs, just as Dean's about to impale himself on Sam's dick.

 

"What?" Dean says, his forehead pressed against Sam's, his breath hot against Sam's face.

 

"You sure about this?"

 

Dean shakes his head and grins. "Dude, you have magic sex wings. Just shut up and _go with it._ "

 

Minutes later, Sam's flying again, and he's decided that there's a fine line between being cursed and blessed. Sure, they'll have to figure out how to get rid of the wings sometime, but for now, Sam's quite happy to take full advantage of them.


	2. Stranglehold

  
Author's notes: Brief Sam/OFC.  


* * *

They're not too worried about the wings. Well, probably not as worried as they should be. But it's almost Halloween, and it's not entirely unheard of for things like this to happen to people around Halloween time. Dean thinks it's probably a trickster spirit, and has gathered from his research that they'll likely go away in a few days.

 

In the meantime, they're both taking advantage.

 

Sam's flared wings cradle Dean almost gently as Dean fucks his brother up against the wall. Sam's face is pressed hard against the ugly wallpaper, and he's bitten clean through his lip as Dean strokes into him from behind and grips his wings hard. Oh, fuck, the fucking wing joints must be wired to his cock. He tries to move, to bring a hand up to wipe the blood off his mouth but Dean grabs it and covers it with his against the wall. His other hand digs into the wing joint, firm and unyielding, and Sam comes hard, his cock jerking and twitching as he covers the wall in front of him with hot bursts. Dean grunts in his ear and clenches up, and Sam groans as Dean licks the skin around Sam's wings and comes too.

 

It's been five times today, and Sam's getting kinda tired. Also, his ass? Pretty fucking sore. Dean's not too comfortable either, judging by the way he's sitting down carefully and wincing a little as he walks.

 

\---

 

It's Halloween, and Sam's sick to fucking death of the motel room. They've been there for three days now, and Sam hasn't left the room once. Dean's got a damned good point in keeping him in there - the wings aren't exactly inconspicuous - but it's fucking _Halloween._

 

"Fine," Dean snaps. "Not my fault if some drunken dumbass tries to pull them off you."

 

Sam rolls his eyes and passes Dean his devil's horns. Pretty appropriate, really. Sam has carefully cut holes in one of his older shirts to slide his wings through, and with a bit of expert taping, they look like he got them in a costume shop. Just as they're leaving, Dean reaches out to touch them again ( _can't resist, so fucking soft..._ ) and Sam turns with a snarl.

 

"Dude, not tonight. I don't wanna have to walk around with a stiffy."

 

Dean grins innocently and puts his hand back in his pocket.

 

\---

 

In retrospect, choosing a club full of people was not the best idea. People keep fucking _touching_ him, and every single time something brushes against the main joint, Sam's cock hardens even more in his pants. Drunken college girls slide their arms around him from behind and stroke the feathers, murmuring about how sinfully delicious he looks, and Sam can't help but press himself firmly back, smiling and laughing with them, accepting their offers to dance and allowing himself the pleasure of sliding his erection against their bodies. They giggle and squeeze his ass and grope his wings, and he's had more offers than he can count to take things elsewhere.

 

Sam hasn't seen Dean for at least half an hour. Every so often he scans the crowd, but can't find his brother anywhere.

 

Two girls corner Sam when he comes out of the bathroom, and they start touching his wings. He can't help it; his face collapses into a look of ecstacy, and he groans softly. Oh god, his dick's hard enough to drill through anything, and he's dying to get laid. He doesn't know how much longer he can put up with this near-constant arousal, and when a girl stands on her tiptoes and bites his ear while her thumb digs into the wing joint, Sam gives up.

 

One of the girls whispers something to the other, and before Sam knows it, he's being dragged off somewhere quiet. He doesn't know where he is; doesn't _care_ , because someone has their hand down his pants and there's someone stroking his wings, massaging the joints and all over and _fuck_ , suddenly his pants have been shoved down to his knees and there's a girl kneeling in front of him about to suck his cock.

 

"Go on," the other girl purrs from behind him. She's running her hands up his shirt, and Sam has a momentary fear that she'll discover that they're real, but then her hands slide around his front and she teases his nipples. He suddenly realizes that her shirt's undone, and he can feel her naked breasts pressed hard against his wings.

 

It's almost too much, and he's breathing raggedly as he stares down at the girl sucking his dick - her mouth's so damned tight and hot and it's smaller than Dean's, but she's holding his hips still and won't let him fuck her. Sam groans and leans his arms on the wall in front of him, almost hyperventilating as soft, warm skin slides all over his wings and small hands pluck his nipples and a wet mouth kisses his neck.

 

"Oh fuck," he groans. 

 

"You gonna come?" the girl behind him asks, her breath hot in his ear. She bites down on his earlobe, rubbing her breasts against his wings, and Sam bites through his lip again. He tastes blood as he nods frantically, and he can almost feel the girl smile.

 

"Good," she whispers. "I wanna see you come. Wanna see you paint her mouth with your come, and then I'm gonna suck you hard again."

 

Jesus fucking Christ. Sam gasps for air, his bangs sweaty on his forehead, his wings twitching and trying desperately to flare as the girl on her knees swallows hard, and Sam feels his cock stroke the back of her throat. One hand slides down to cup his balls gently, and ...

 

"What the _FUCK_?"

 

There's a squawk, and suddenly the mouth on Sam's dick is gone, goddamn the air is so fucking _cold_ on his heated skin, oh Jesus fucking Christ someone is gonna _die_ for this. The two girls vanish as quickly as they appeared, and Sam turns around to see Dean standing behind him with his arms crossed and looking more pissed off than Sam has ever seen him.

 

Before Sam can say a word, Dean grabs him by a wing, and Sam's frantically trying to do up his pants as his brother drags him out the back door into the alleyway behind the club. Holy fuck, Sam's pretty sure it shouldn't feel this damned good to be dragged around by wings - he has a brief thought that Dean could dislocate his shoulder - and then he's being pressed up against the wall. It's rough and brick and damp and Sam's pretty sure some guy's taken a piss not far from here, but then Dean's breath is in his ear and he forgets everything.

 

"Were you gonna fuck those girls?" he whispers harshly. Sam's hands scrabble uselessly at the wall in front of him, trying to turn around to face Dean, but Dean's got one arm across Sam's wings, pretty much reducing him to jelly. He's still so fucking hard in his pants; his cock's leaking everywhere, making a mess of his boxers, and Dean's touch is just making it _so much worse_.

 

"Bet they liked your pretty wings," Dean continues, one hand sliding down to undo Sam's pants again. They fall to the ground with barely a touch, and Dean's hand wraps loosely around Sam's dick. He bites back a moan, wanting more; wanting Dean to _punish_ him for what he was going to do.

 

"You mean I can't go out and get laid like you do?" he pants against the wall, his hips jerking convulsively as Dean lightly, teasingly strokes his cock. There's a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and then Dean _bites_ down on his wing joint.

 

Sam howls, bucks his hips, and comes immediately. It's easily the most intense orgasm he's ever had; it seems to go on forever, and by the time he's done gasping and spurting, there's an awed silence behind him.

 

"Whoa," Dean murmurs.

 

"I... fuck," Sam says softly. "Sorry. And, man, I was so fucking horny and I couldn't find you and those girls kept _touching_ my wings and I really really needed to get laid and _you weren't there_ and I..."

 

"I'm here now," Dean says reasonably, and Sam chuckles lightly. "Besides, I can still fuck you."

 

Sam groans and leans his head back. "Whatever, man," he says. "I'll just stand here and moan in the appropriate places."

 

"Oh, you are gonna _pay_ ," Dean growls. He forces Sam's legs apart, and Sam braces himself against the wall as Dean presses two spit-slick fingers into him. The amount of sex they've had the past three days, Sam doesn't need much in the way of stretching, but he's still relieved when he hears Dean tear open a condom and a packet of lube. He realizes all of a sudden that Dean's not touching his wings, not even brushing against them, and he grunts quietly.

 

"Dude. The wings. You wanna..."

 

Dean chuckles quietly. "You're not getting off that easy, Sammy," he says, sliding the condom on and slicking himself up. He leans back slightly and presses Sam's ass apart, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself into the tight heat. He's not expecting Sam to lean back, flare his wings all the way out like he's gonna fucking take off, and deck Dean firmly on the back of the head with the tip of a wing.

 

"Ow!"

 

Sam laughs, and flares his wings again, running the tips lightly up Dean's sides, lifting his shirt and stroking the skin underneath. It's like an electric shock; Dean feels his eyes glaze over and he lets out an embarrassingly needy sound as he wraps his arms firmly around Sam's body and starts driving into him, hard. The wings have torn their way out of Sam's shirt completely, and it's hanging in tatters from his back, exposing smooth, hot skin and muscle. Dean buries his face in the feathers in front of him, inhaling their soft aroma, licking the smooth skin of Sam's back, and he can hear Sam coming apart.

 

"Are you... are you gonna come again?" he pants softly, recognizing the quiet whimpers Sam's making. His brother's bracing his head on his arms, his hips moving in tandem with Dean's, and when Sam nods and clenches around Dean's cock, it's almost too much. The wings, and the fact that he's fucking his brother in an alleyway where anyone could come out and see them, and how Sam's gonna come _again_ , and the wall in front of them is gonna be dripping with Sam's spunk, and Dean bites Sam's wing again and comes with a muffled grunt. It's like magic, once again; the very act of sinking his teeth lightly into the wing joint has Sam tightening and jerking and coming again with a strangled cry, without having once touched his dick.

 

They can hear muffled voices not far away from the people queuing to get into the club. There's laughter and swearing and the occasional sound of breaking glass, but the only thing Sam can think about is how Dean's breath in his ear sounds like a fucking hurricane, and he doesn't want it to stop.

 

Eventually, Dean stirs and unpeels himself from Sam's sweaty back.

 

"You wanna go back to the motel?" he says quietly, and Sam nods. They try to fix their clothes, but eventually give up, and walk back to their motel in silence.

 

\---

 

When the wings are gone the next morning, Sam can't help but feel disappointed. He glances at Dean, whose face is shuttered, and he suddenly thinks that everything's just gonna go back to the way it was before. Dean cocks an eyebrow at Sam and looks pointedly at his back, and Sam sighs.

 

"Yeah."

 

"So." Dean picks up his towel and heads towards the bathroom, and Sam just sits up in bed and tries not to feel miserable. A minute later, Dean's opening the bathroom door again and poking his head out.

 

"You coming with me, or what?"

 

Sam grins and is out of bed within seconds.


End file.
